


"we're just the losers / who keep waiting to be seen"

by violet_sunset



Series: Red Shift, Blue Shift [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Communication, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), M/M, Male Bonding, Pre-Relationship, Suicide Attempt, Team as Family, but only the discussion of it, none of that is in the present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_sunset/pseuds/violet_sunset
Summary: Self-care is part of Lance's routine, so it makes sense that when he and Keith get closer, he extends an invite to Keith to join in on spa nights. These nights quickly become synonymous with meaningful discussions of themselves as people and friends, and one such night, Keith decides to trust Lance with a piece of his past that has continued to haunt him all the way into space.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Red Shift, Blue Shift [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778650
Comments: 4
Kudos: 174





	"we're just the losers / who keep waiting to be seen"

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a thing where Keith and Lance already have an established friendship and are growing closer, because we don't get enough of that delicious self-actualization juice in canon. Mutual respect and understanding is the foundation of a healthy partnership! Let these boys bond!  
> Title of the work from Dear Evan Hansen's "Disappear"

Being sequestered to a giant castle in space with just six other people pretty much demands that you all get to know each other pretty well, and so Lance is sure he knows more about his teammates than he knows about his own Amá. It’s a bit of a disturbing thought, one he quickly forces into the deepest recesses of his mind and only lets bubble up when he’s alone and can cry without attracting questions. But, despite all the things Lance has already learned about his teammates, Keith continues to surprise him. Mostly because, as their co-leadership positions developed, their need to be open with each other also increased.  
  
Lance thinks he’s only really surprised by the things he learns about Keith because they correct a lot of assumptions Lance has made over the years. Assumptions that he once noted in his head as Facts About Keith. The actual facts tell a story Lance isn’t sure he was ready to receive, but he devotes himself to parsing through his own initial opinions and accepting Keith’s idiosyncrasies and nuances with grace. He has his siblings to thank for his adaptability.  
  
But yeah, things he used to think are suddenly being ousted as dramatically inaccurate, and it’s sort of making Lance’s head spin. He used to think Keith wore those fingerless gloves because they made him look badass. Now that he’s been in much closer, much calmer quarters with the red paladin, he’s found that the gloves actually function as some sort of security blanket for him. Lance thought, at the beginning of their tentative acquaintanceship, that Keith’s eye-bags were from intentional overnighters. But he’s seen Keith up at unseemly vargas, sitting desolate in the kitchen and staring at the far wall as he murmurs little reassurances to himself, things like “you’re safe now” or “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” until his voice is hoarse. Lance always backpedals out of the kitchen as silently as he can, knowing Keith wouldn’t want him to intrude on moments like that. But he still stands outside the door in case Keith ends up needing someone. Just in case.  
  
More little things like that are starting to come together in Lance’s head like the unwitting necks of a jigsaw, and he sort of wishes they wouldn’t. He feels like he’s accidentally psychoanalyzing his teammate and recently proclaimed friend. In truth, they’ve been friends for a long time, but it took them co-commanding Voltron and its paladins to finally pull their heads out of the dirt and approach each other as equals. It feels icky to assume anything again, especially after it landed Lance in the position to provoke Keith out of stupid misunderstandings. So he tries not to assume anything with each new revelation, and just lets the corrections wash over him as they come in little admissions.  
  
Assumption: Keith is angry because he doesn’t like people. Correction: Keith is angry for a number of reasons because he is a complex human being who has lived a complicated life.  
  
Assumption: Keith doesn’t like to be touched. Correction: Keith does not always know if a touch is going to be well-intentioned, as evidenced by the time he flinched when Pidge reached out to swipe a smear of goo off his cheek.  
  
Assumption: Keith does not like Lance. Correction: Keith was, for a long time, under the impression that Lance did not like him, and responded in kind to avoid getting attached.  
  
Lance wants to kick himself for all the things he’s ever said to Keith that could have contributed to the dark, swirling thoughts that Keith has intimated he struggles with. It happens on nights like this, when they are cross-legged on the floor of Lance’s room, knees touching and face masks on, and they are having what used to be forced bonding time. Now it’s more of a comfortable ritual between friends. But Keith will let Lance swipe a teal face mask across the slopes and curves of his face, and he will tell Lance something more about himself, and he will rewrite some of Lance’s prior assumptions.  
  
Keith’s eyes are half-lidded by the time Lance is finished applying tonight’s mask, and he hums contentedly when Lance dots a little on his nose before drawing back. Keith’s hands are on his knees, but his posture is relaxed, and Lance feels blessed that his old rival can feel so at ease with him now. At ease enough to say, “You know, I used to think I wouldn’t ever get to see the stars. Not really, that is. Not like we get to now.”  
  
Lance blinks at him, thoughtful. “Because you couldn’t stay in the Garrison?” he asks hesitantly. He’s curious, though.  
  
Keith smiles and shakes his head, but the curl of his lips doesn’t travel to his eyes. “No, before that, even. I just… thought I’d be dead before I could get there.” He says it quiet, releasing it into the air between them where it buzzes like a dangerous wasp that was stinging the roof of his mouth.  
  
Lance’s heart squeezes. “Dude,” he says softly, then backtracks, because that’s not really the appropriate thing to say when your friend just admitted he expected a lifetime of less than 25-ish years. “It sucks that you were made to feel like that,” he says instead, because he hates when people apologize for things like that.  
  
There’s a certain glossiness to Keith’s eyes when he shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m… at peace with it, I guess. Sorta. I dunno. It still feels kind of surreal to be up here. I mean, space castle with some, frankly, archaic aliens fighting an intergalactic war? Not really what I would’ve put down when the Garrison asked where I saw myself in five years.”  
  
Lance snorts a laugh at that. “Oh my god, I hated that question. I wrote something stupid, I’m sure. Some like, dumb grandiose lie about being a fighter pilot aiming for the greater good of humanity and blah-blah-blah. I was a tiny megalomaniac back then, I probably just wanted the recognition of millions. You know, to be adored or whatever.”  
  
Keith’s brow scrunches cutely. “But you are doing that, in a way. You’re fighting for the good of the universe, and you’re a pilot in your own right. And plenty of people adore you.”  
  
Lance responds with a half-smile. “Yeah, true enough.”  
  
Then Keith’s shoulders go a little stiff and he averts his eyes the way he always does when he wants to say something that makes him feel vulnerable. “It’s just… do you ever feel like you don’t deserve to be here?”  
  
The question hits Lance in the exact center of his own tangled mess of internalized doubt and buried pain. He swallows thickly and turns his eyes to Keith’s cheek so he won’t have to make eye contact. “All the time, dude. It’s why I always insist on being like, the sharpshooter of the team, and why I always make a fool out of myself trying to be the center of attention. In case you didn’t know, people who are confident in themselves don’t really do all that.”  
  
Keith hums. It’s not a judgemental sound. More contemplative, and Lance chances a glance up to Keith’s violet eyes. They are still turned towards the corner of the room, as if his nerve is founded solely on whatever shadow he’s tracing with his vision. “That… makes sense, I think.” Then Keith’s eyes abruptly snap to meet Lance’s, and Lance finds he couldn’t look away even if he wanted, too captivated by Keith’s sudden, fiery determination. “Not the— you’re not, I don’t mean to say it’s right that you feel that way. I mean— no, you’re… it’s valid, but it’s not true? I just…” he trails off and puffs out his cheeks with a frustrated sigh.  
  
Instead of prodding like he would’ve done before, Lance just lets Keith gather his thoughts. When he does, Lance is sure nothing in the multiverse could have prepared him for what comes out of Keith’s mouth. “Lance, you’re important to all of us. Not just as a paladin, or a teammate, or an asset in battle. You’re all of that, but you’re also our friend. You’re a good person, and you love with your whole heart and you try to be the best for everybody else all the time, and you’re important. To me, Lance. You’re important.”  
  
Tears well up in Lance’s eyes before he can stop them, and he tips his head back so he can blink at the ceiling. “Fuck, Keith, buddy, don’t make me cry in a face mask. So not cool.”  
  
Keith just chuckles, clearly nervous. “Sorry I care about you?” he teases.  
  
Lance groans when the tears slip down the side of his face and into his hairline, and he gives up. He flops forward, huffing as more tears streak down his face and wobble off his chin to stain his robe. He feels deeply validated by Keith’s words, but also concerned now that he recalls the question that sparked them. “Keith, why don’t you feel like you deserve to be here? I mean, if we’re talking about being important, you’ve seen how much we need you. As a team, yes, but also as like, part of the family. You’re our friend, too, and I don’t just share my face masks and nail polish with anybody, you know.”  
  
Keith grimaces. Oof, clearly this is a nerve that he didn’t mean to hit. But Keith doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt. He hasn’t done that in ages. Not since he and Lance agreed to be honest with each other to the extent that they could still maintain some personal boundaries regarding the information shared. But, Lance hasn’t ever come across a topic he feels he can’t discuss with Keith these days. And maybe Keith feels the same, because suddenly he looks down and starts playing with the seams of his gloves, considering.  
  
In one smooth, surprisingly steady motion, Keith pulls off the glove on his left hand before removing the other one and laying them down carefully beside his thigh on the floor. He catches Lance’s eye with a pointed look, and then reaches across their laps to take Lance’s hands in his own. Lance doesn’t look down, realizing that Keith is about to share something with him that somehow involves the gloves, and their significance, and even though his mind is racing as to how this could possibly relate to Keith’s own imposter syndrome, he doesn’t look down. He trusts Keith, and Keith is clearly attempting to trust him. He’s not about to betray that.  
  
“When I was seven,” Keith starts. His voice is barely above a whisper, and his eyes are wet. Lance squeezes his hands reflexively. Keith’s mouth twitches with the barest hint of a smile, and he squeezes back. “When I was seven, my dad died, and I was alone. I got put in foster care, and for a long time I felt like I wasn’t… I wasn’t wanted. Kids could be really cruel, and I got it in my head that if my own mom didn’t want me, why would anyone else? I, uh,” Keith’s voice breaks and he sighs shakily. His eyes slip shut when the first tear falls, sending a glittering streak across the teal of his face mask. “I tried to kill myself, when I was seventeen. It was around the time Shiro… it was after Kerberos, and I just wanted things to stop. I wanted me to stop. And when I woke up in a hospital I felt like I didn’t deserve to, because Shiro didn’t… I thought he would never get the chance to wake up again, and I felt… I still feel,” he stops to clench his jaw around a hiccuping sob. “I felt like I wasn’t worth saving.”  
  
Lance realizes he’s squeezing way too tight to Keith’s hands, but then he feels the ache of his own fingers and knows Keith is gripping back just as hard. He’s clinging to Lance like a lifeline, and it’s humbling. It feels like it did when Lance first looked out the view screens of the castle and saw the universe sprawled out in every direction. Keith sniffles, and Lance wishes for a brief, burning moment that he could reach backwards through time and wipe away all the tears that Keith must have shed as a child, to lay a tender hand to the cheek of his friend and to tell him that he’s wanted. He does the next best thing, and speaks to the fragments of that child that still reside within Keith as memories, as learned behaviors, as self-esteem.  
  
“Keith, you deserved to be saved. Even if Shiro hadn’t lived? If he had really died on that mission? You still deserve to live, because you’re Keith Kogane and you’re my friend, and you’re saving the fucking universe by my side.” Lance feels himself getting heated, and Keith is shaking, and he needs Keith to believe this. “And even if you weren’t doing any of that, you still deserve to live. You matter, Keith. You matter to me, but you also matter all on your own. You’re not an intrusion, or an error in the code, or someone who cheated death. You survived because you deserve to find your happiness, just like any one of us.”  
  
Keith’s shoulders are shuddering with the force of his tears now, but all that comes out are little gasps and sharp exhales that could barely count as sobs. Lance wonders if Keith learned to cry silently in his foster homes, and the notion fills his limbs with white hot rage towards the adults who utterly failed his friend. “Thank you,” Keith says, and then he looks down at their interlocked hands. “It’s… I wanted to show you the scars. It’s probably stupid, but it just… they’re part of me? And I want you to know me, even the not-so-nice parts.”  
  
Lance shakes his head frantically. “It’s not stupid. At all. It’s part of the the journey that got you here, and they’re reminders of a time where you felt like you’d never get to where you are now. That’s a pretty heavy weight to carry alone.”  
  
Keith’s lips quirk up. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, and then releases Lance’s hands so he can flip his wrists up.  
  
Lance looks down at the pale arms stretched between them, feels Keith’s knuckles where they rest against the insides of his calves. On each of Keith’s wrists, stretching from the meat of his palm to the middle of the prominent vein of his forearm, there sits a pair of long-healed scars, white and jagged and raised from his flesh. Lance’s fingers twitch instantly to Keith’s wrists, but he pauses and looks up to make sure he isn’t crossing any boundary. Keith just nods, so Lance slowly traces his index and middle fingers along both the scars, feeling their rigid texture and the uneven bumps from the stitches the doctors must have used.  
  
The thing that really gets to Lance is that they’re not the only scars there, and they’re certainly not the most recent. There are tiny straight lines inching across Keith’s skin like the marks of a tally, disappearing under the cuffs of his jacket. One or two still sport the dusky pink quality of freshly healed. How has Lance never noticed them all before?  
  
“Have you… recently?” Lance asks.  
  
Keith pulls his arms in a little, like he wants to curl them around his waist and hide. He doesn’t though, so Lance loosely circles Keith’s wrists with his palms, leaving the option to pull away. “It’s been three phoebs, I think.”  
  
Lance’s head spins. “Since we started…?”  
  
Keith nods. “Yeah. These nights… this all helps me. Talking with you and getting to spend time with you and just, be. You know? Be kids. Be teenagers.”  
  
Lance nods in solemn understanding. “I’m glad you’re not going through it alone anymore,” he says pointedly. He knows a friendship (or the love Lance hasn’t yet voiced) won’t instantly heal the emotional wounds that have driven Keith to hurt himself, and he won’t delude either of them with that sentiment. But it can certainly help, and it obviously has been.  
  
“Thanks for not letting me,” Keith replies, just as pointedly, and flexes his arms against the brush of Lance’s hold, not to pull away, but just to say he notices.  
  
Lance resists the urge to lean in closer. “Thanks for letting me not let you,” he fires back with a cheeky grin.  
  
Keith rolls his eyes, and this time he does pull away, but only to lean back on his hands and smile. “You’re impossible.”  
  
Lance gasps and brings one hand up to flutter near his throat in mock offense. He can’t keep the act up as long as he used to, though, because Keith’s too-sharp canines are visible in his smile, and his eyes are so soft, and Lance gets the breath knocked out of him for what must be the thousandth time since Keith started to relax around him. He drops the theatrics with a self-conscious smile and laughs when he realizes their face masks have gone a little too dry.  
  
“We need to wash these off,” Lance says, gesturing vaguely to his own face.  
  
Keith nods and stands quickly, extending a (still ungloved) hand to Lance. When Lance takes the offered hand, Keith pulls him easily to his feet, and they walk to the bathroom together in the amiable quiet that often punctuates their new partnership. Lance has learned that he doesn’t need to speak to fill the spaces between himself and Keith, and it’s refreshing to just enjoy Keith’s presence and know Keith is doing the same with him. And when Keith leans close and bumps his hip against Lance’s, and they meet eyes in the mirror and smile, Lance knows that nothing he could say would even begin to describe this feeling anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get the idea for this fic out of my head. I might make it a series if my brain lets me come up with congruent thoughts long enough to expand on it. Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
